


Population: Bucky Barnes (And Four Thousand Farmers)

by captainjunglegym



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, allusions to underage sex, i swear this is a more of a comedy, off screen rape/non con/sexual assault
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 06:41:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13335615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainjunglegym/pseuds/captainjunglegym
Summary: Once upon a time, eighteen-year-old Bucky Barnes ran away from his home in New York City and ended up at University in London, England.He didn't tell anyone he was leaving. He didn't have time. He had to run.Five years later, Bucky moved to a quaint village in the Forest of Dean in South West England.Steve, still in Brooklyn, struggles daily with the disappearance of his best friend, even all these years later.Somehow they reconnect.





	1. PART ONE

**Author's Note:**

> Okay yes hello this is a real thing that I Am Writing™
> 
> This is a story about Bucky living in a completely fictional town in south-west England. I lived in a real town in south-west England for too long and hey, write what you know!
> 
> If you are unfamiliar with the area or with the accent then please watch Hot Fuzz. It's the most accurate representation of the West Country. 
> 
> I've never been to America a day in my life so my description of New York is, as always, shoddy. Artistic liberty and all that.
> 
> I know I've checked 'rape/non con' on the warnings but there will be NO ON SCREEN RAPE OR SEXUAL ASSAULT!!!!! This fic also deals with a predatory older man/underaged teenager relationship that turns ugly!!! ye have been warned!!!
> 
> omg this is a comedy tho if u can belieb
> 
> this is pure FICTION and so it exists in a parallel universe where things like university applications and such are easy and take like a day

**Bucky :**

_ In which Bucky moves to the countryside. _

* * *

 

 

The third day Bucky had been in his new home, the police knocked on his door and arrested him for ‘conspiracy to traffic drugs’. It was then, sitting under fluorescents in the police station, Bucky had come to realise what kind of place Leaming Whit was. 

 

On Wikipedia, it was named the seventeenth most picturesque town in the Forest of Dean and boasted being the only area in the whole of the county that had glass recyclables picked up from your door. 

 

Bucky had picked it because it was the only place that had a museum in need of a newly graduated history major as their archivist. 

 

And because he could rent a room in a pretty cottage for only £80 a week.

 

Bucky had been living in England almost five years and had realised that Britain was very different to what he’d come to expect. He was eighteen and newly enrolled in the London School of Economics, and ready to embrace a new culture. Maybe have a romance with a pretty English person with a funny accent who was secretly related to royalty. Or maybe he’d just catch a show on the West End.

 

His first week they did something called ‘freshers week’. Basically, they dressed up like idiots and went to clubs every night for seven days, then had a perma-hangover for the next two weeks (or a fortnight- that's what they call it). He supposed it must have been like what ‘orientation week’ was like for his friends back in New York, except with a lot more legal drinking. He’d puked up in more back alleys in London that week than he dared to remember, and made a whole bunch of friends for life. England started to look a little less…quaint after that. 

 

London was amazing and vibrant and loud.

 

And too much.

 

He loved cities- he was from New York City for crying out loud. But city life was expensive. And he was getting fat from all the beer. He wanted to see the quaint side of England that he hadn’t got when he first moved.

 

That leads to Leaming Whit. Home of 4’338 people, three historical sites, The Heritage Museum of Gloucestershire, and Bucky himself. Also home to the title: drugs capital of the Forest.

 

_“Where were you on Saturday last?” The inspector narrowed his eyes at Bucky, leaning towards him in what could have been an attempt at intimidation._

 

_“Uhm,” Bucky cleared his throat, “I was in London, working my last shift at Tesco…”_

 

_“And if I call this ‘Tesco’” air quotes included- “they will verify your whereabouts?”_

 

_“Yes.”_

 

_“Oh.” He nodded his head, “You’re free to go then, mate, I guess.”_

 

And thus ended Bucky’s first brush with the short arm of the law in the town. It had really set the tone of Bucky’s foray into country life, and he couldn’t fault the fine constabulary for doing their good work. He knew it was going to be a bizarre period of his life, and he embraced that fully. 

 

The Heritage Museum of Gloucestershire was pretty tiny, but inside sat artefacts over three thousand years old. Old bronze shields and tools were displayed in glass cases, and they had a collection of two hundred bronze axe tips. As is obvious, two of the dig sites near the museum were from the bronze age. The third site was from around the time the Roman invasion of Britain had slowly begun the end of the Iron age. 

 

Bucky’s MA was in general History, but his year three thesis was on ancient history in southern Britain- especially the mid-bronze age, so the museum’s collection was right up his street.

 

“Mate you have to organise like all these shelves,” His ‘supervisor’-Joe, the twenty-year-old son of the curator, told Bucky his first day. “There is like four folders of paperwork that match the artefacts? I think you’ve got to just fact check, and make sure they’re in good enough condition for the general public and shit. Yeah?”

 

“Lotta shelves,” Bucky remarked.

 

“Innit.” Joe agreed solemnly.

 

Bucky nodded.

 

“Hey, soon you’ll be able to give tours and whatnot, so there’s that?” Joe slapped his arm and smiled.

 

The weeks came and went, and Bucky was settling into his life in Leaming Whit. There was a pub three doors down from him called The Stag and Goose where he ended up most nights with the few friends he’d made from work, and his neighbours. He didn’t feel like an outsider, even though he was much younger than most, and definitely more American than anyone to have ever passed through the town, but the lovely residents had sort of taken him under the wing.

 

He’d learnt that the whole ‘drugs capital of the Forest’ was only one side of Leaming Whit. The other side was old farmers. Bucky could hang with old farmers.

 

“So yous from America, then?” A portly man, now known to Bucky as ‘Trev’, had asked him the first night he’d walked into the pub. 

 

Everyone had stopped what they were doing to stare at him for a few moments. Bucky had stood awkwardly in the doorway before the middle-aged woman (Pam) behind the bar had told the patrons to stop being “hairy-arsed tossers” and invited him to sit down. Other people and wandered over to him, intrigued by the newcomer.

 

“Uh yeah, I’m from New York, but I just moved from London to the lovely Leaming Whit.”

 

After the laughter died down, Bucky then learnt that it was pronounced ‘Leh-ming Whit’ as opposed to ‘Leeming Whit’, and ‘glos-ter-sheer’ instead of ‘glos-ter-shyre’.

 

They were a nosy bunch, Bucky felt like he’d gained several new sets of parents.

 

“Y’know Bucky,” Jean (Dave from the corner shop’s wife) sidled up to him the night they were at the pub celebrating his two month anniversary in Leaming, “Jenny’s son is in town tonight. From Manchester he is. He’s a…ya know…as well.” 

 

Yeah. He told them he was gay after they tried setting him up with every single farm girl in the whole area, hoping they’d back off. Unfortunately, they’d just tried harder to find eligible men in the area. 

 

Finding openly gay men in the Forest was like trying to find non-white people in the Forest. Or like trying to find non-Conservatives in the Forest. Or like trying to get a signal on your phone in the Forest.

 

Close to impossible.

 

They’d started to call Bucky ‘the only gay in the village’, which he assumed was a reference to something that had gone straight over his head.*

 

“He’s very handsome,” Ethel piped up from behind him, before sitting at their table, “got a fancy degree like you, he has. One of them there lawyers or summut or nothing.”

 

“He’s called Mike, he is.”

 

Bucky looked at their hopeful faces and knew he wasn’t backing out of this one.

 

That's how he’d ended up on a date with Jenny’s son Mike, at the only restaurant in town; Beeswax.

 

Bucky nearly screamed the first time he walked into Beeswax because it was so cute. There were little bumble bee motifs on everything and a little shop where you could buy honey. Lace was everywhere, with delicate bee patterns sown in, and Bucky barely made it through his first meal at the place before tearing up because it was so cute and happy. One of Bucky’s favourite places in the whole of Leaming.

 

Mike was attractive, and Bucky didn’t say that lightly. He was in his early thirties, had a jaw sharper than a thumb tack, and a suit that suggested he was rich as hell. Inside Bucky’s head all sorts of bells and whistles were sounding.

 

“So why Leaming? You are far too good-looking to be hanging out with my dad and his friends.” Mike had smiled at him over a glass of wine.

 

“I like it here,” Bucky replied trying not to blush at the compliment. “It’s peaceful. Plus the job is wonderful, and, I don’t think I’ll be here forever, but, it’s just nice…and calm.”

 

Mike laughed, deep and beautiful, “A big step away from the Big Apple.”

 

“Yeah…”

 

“Why England at all?”

 

Bucky’s smile weakened, “Just wanted a change is all…Didn’t you ever just want a change?”

 

Mike, sensing the sensitive topic, smiled warmly and placed a hand on Bucky’s on top of the table, “Yeah,” he squeezed bucky’s hand, “I understand that.”

 

Bucky’s heart thudded under the contact of warm skin.

 

“Hey.” Bucky’s gaze was drawn up to look Mike directly in the eye, “do you want to get out of here?”

 

Bucky bit his lip. “Fuck yes.”

 

The unfortunate thing was that Bucky rented a room in a house owned by a 73-year-old woman who was always home. Mike was staying with his parents while he visited. His parents also were always home. Privacy was going to be an issue. A big issue. A big hard throbbing issue that needed to be taken care of asap.

 

Mike did, however, have a very expensive looking BMW with heated leather seats.

 

“Nice car.”

 

“Yes,” Mike crowded himself up against Bucky, “it’d be awfully nice if you’d let me fuck you in it.”

 

Yes. As Bucky was ploughed from behind on the plush heated leather seats of a rather expensive BMW, his thoughts drifted to how wonderful his new country life was turning out. Getting fucked by a hot lawyer. Having a lot of (elderly) friends. Living in a beautiful historic town. Actually being able to take part in bronze age site digs.

 

Fuck yes. England ruled.

 

****

 

 

 

** Steve **

_ In which Steve is simultaneously stuck in Brooklyn and the past. _

* * *

 

 

Steve Rogers had a neighbour who insisted on slamming his fist on the shared wall between his and Steve’s apartments whilst masturbating furiously.

 

_Ah ah ah. Bang bang bang._

 

In all honesty, Steve had got to the point of picking up the phone to call the cops before freezing and hanging up. What was he going to say? _Uhm yes officer my neighbours furious masturbating is seriously keeping me awake at night._ He’d be fucking laughed out of house and home.

 

“Ya know you’re gonna get wrinkles if you keep scowling like that.”

 

The voice made Steve jump out of his skin. “Jesus Christ Rebecca, you’re gonna give me a heart attack!”

 

“No,” Becca smirked, wandering further into the apartment, “ _stress_ is going to give you a heart attack.”

 

She had a point. Steve graduated from NYU with a degree in Fine Art and Design. His love had always been art, since an early age Steve knew he wanted to be an ‘artist’. He didn’t know, however, that ‘artist’ was usually prefixed by ‘struggling’. The stress of being sort-of unemployed but also kinda being self-employed, working on commissioned paintings/drawings/even-fucking-sculptures was a huge pressure. Not knowing where the next paycheck was coming from was an anxiety that Steve was struggling to bear.

 

He sighed, “You know, you’re right.”

 

“Aren’t I always…You could always ask mom for help,” Becca suggested, shrugging, “she’d be happy to give you some money seeing as she no longer has a son to spoil-”

 

“-Becca, don’t.” Steve let out a puff of air, “Just…don’t. Don’t talk about him like he’s…gone.”

 

“It’d’ve been easier if he’d just died.”

 

The suddenness of the tears that stung the back of Steve’s eyes shocked him. It’d been half a decade but after he’d gone, Steve really did mourn him like he was dead. The empty pain that resided in his stomach flared up whenever Steve saw something and turned to tell someone who was no longer there. All Steve’s memories, even the happy ones, were tainted by the loss of _him_. Like he was _dead_.

 

Steve wasn’t angry at Becca. Steve supposed he knew what Becca meant. Someone can’t help dying. Sometimes people just die, and it’s out of everyone’s control.

 

Bucky, he’d-.

 

Bucky had _left_. 

 

Bucky chose to leave, chose to walk away. He walked away from his family, from the scholarship at the college they’d both planned on attending together, from his home. _From Steve_.

 

And the real fucking kicker?

 

No one knew where in the fuck he’d gone.

 

“I’m sorry Steve. I’m sorry I keep bringing him up. Even after all these years.” Becca looked older than her twenty years should. She’d been fifteen when Bucky disappeared and suddenly found herself the eldest, left to look after her three younger sisters whilst her parents fell apart at the loss of their only son. The divorce had only been finalised two years earlier, another thing on a long list that she blamed her brother for.

 

“It’s okay.” 

 

“I really fucking hate him.”

 

“Yeah.” Steve didn’t hate him. He could never hate Bucky. Sometimes it was hard to compare the sweet boy he grew up with the man who abandoned him after graduation. Deep down Steve knew that there must have been something that drove him away.

 

To be honest, Steve just hoped Bucky was happy wherever he was in the world.

 

-

 

On a weekend, Steve would usually pick up a shift at The Coffee Bean, a cafe owned by his neighbour. The cafe itself wasn’t the most inviting place, they had their regulars and that was about it- but Steve’s neighbour allowed him to display his art and earn a few bucks here and there playing barista.

 

It was a pretty good gig because Steve made only about five coffees a day, the rest of the time he just drew or watched the little tv they had hanging in the corner. He was very proud to be in charge of the remote control, the highest responsibility in the whole of Brooklyn. Maybe.

 

“Hey muscles,” Tony leant over the counter and flipped his sunglasses on top of his head, “you guys still serve coffee slop?”

 

“Only for you,” Steve deadpanned, and set about making the drink, “I thought you were in California til Wednesday?”

 

Tony shrugged. He was the bizarre son of a multi-billionaire, but still, he hung out with lowlifes. Tony had been kicked out of a prep school in upstate New York and ended up in the same public school as Steve and Bucky, and somehow a friendship for life had been formed. 

 

“I wanted to see my favourite blond beefcake if that’s okay with you?”

 

“Sure I’ll tell Clint you stopped by-”

 

“-Oh! It’s a miracle! He made a joke! He told a joke! There are tears in my eyes!” Tony slapped his palm on the counter and shook his head, “I feel like a proud father.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“No, seriously. Sometimes I think when Barnes left he took your sense of humour with him…” He squinted his eyes, “Speaking of which-”

 

“-I don’t wanna know, Tony!” Steve snapped suddenly. He knew what his friend was going to say. Tony had too much money, too much time, and too many brain cells, and he’d spent the last eighteen months trying to track Bucky down. “I don’t want to know where he is, he obviously doesn’t want me to know where he is, and I will respect that.”

 

“Respect that?! Respect that?! Asshole just fucking bolts, and you still respect him?!”

 

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand-”

 

“-Oh I understand perfectly.” Tony’s face sobered, “Steve you’re my best friend, and I care about you. I know how much Barnes meant to you, you were head over heels in love with that bastard. I mean, he was attractive sure, but you gotta admit he was a slut, and you were way too good for him. Don’t you wanna find him and show him how much better off you are without him? Or fucking deck him in his dumb face? Scream at him for ruining the white picket fence thing the Barnes’ had going on?”

 

In an ideal world, Bucky would come home in tears, sorry for leaving but not regretting it. He’d tell Steve he loved him, he’d make up with his family, and everything would be okay. There’d be no need in trying to hunt him down.

 

“Tony, listen to me,” Steve huffed, “If you do find him, please promise me you’ll leave him alone? No threatening phone calls or any of that shit. If you find him I just…you can just tell me if he’s okay?”

 

“You know he was fucking that Rumlow creep in high school, right?!” Tony spat, “God he makes me so angry! Even now!”

 

Tony and Bucky had been pretty tight, and after Bucky disappeared, Tony got real mad. At heart, Tony was a sensitive guy, hiding it with anger and humour, and Steve knew that Bucky’s departure really had hurt him.

 

Steve sometimes wondered whether Bucky knew how many people he hurt when he left.

 

“I know,” Steve said softly. The fire in Tony’s eyes died.

 

“I won’t say anything to him,” Tony admitted a few moments later, “If I ever find him, I swear, I won’t ever say anything to him. I just thought maybe if we knew where he was…”

 

“…Maybe we could move on.” Steve pushed the coffee toward Tony, “I know you wouldn’t do anything.”

 

Tony hummed in agreement before schooling a perfect grin on his face, “Okay so how much do I owe you for this crime against coffee?”

 

“$3.00.”

 

“Jesus fuck. Daylight robbery.”

 

“Pretty much.” 

 

Steve slumped over, face down, as soon as Tony left. There was no one else in the cafe, just him and their shitty coffee beans. Every meeting with Tony usually left Steve emotionally exhausted, especially since he’d become obsessed with finding Bucky.

 

It’d been a warm Thursday afternoon five years ago when Freddie, Bucky’s mom, had called him. She asked if Bucky was with him, if he’d seen her son at all that day. He hadn’t- in fact he’d last seen him the night before. Bucky had been quiet and sad and brushed off any of Steve’s concerns. However, it didn’t even occur to any of them that Bucky had _left_ , not ’til Steve had searched Bucky’s room for clues and found a note a day and a half later. Freddie and George (Bucky’s dad) had insisted on calling the police, but, of course, there was no evidence of any foul play and Bucky was eighteen, so there was nothing they could do.

 

Steve still had the note in his apartment. It was scribbled on the lined paper of Bucky’s high school History textbook, torn and tear stained.

 

_I’m sorry-_ it read _\- I can’t stay here any longer. I can’t explain. I have to go. I’m sorry, please don’t come after me. Maybe I’ll come back one day. Know that I love you all. I love my family, my friends, Steve… I’m sorry, please don’t be upset._

 

Sometimes Steve would get the note out of the box under his bed and read it over.

 

Sometimes Brooklyn sucked.

 

 

****

 

 

 

** Bucky **

_ In which Bucky finds himself an internet meme. _

* * *

 

Sometimes on a Friday afternoon, Bucky was allowed to go down to site B (the oldest bronze age dig site) and help some of the archaeology students with excavation. Fieldwork was not his forte, but it was fun, especially in the sun. If it was raining (which it did 80% of the time) he didn’t bother going.

 

It was good, however, to meet the archaeology students from the county’s university.

 

One day, a particularly sunny day, Bucky found an entire skeleton of a child in pristine condition. It was estimated to be 4000 years old. And _Bucky_ was the one who found it.

 

Which is how he found himself being interviewed by the BBC for the national news. Really the site’s chief archaeologist should have spoken about it, but the producers had taken one look at Bucky’s ruggedly handsome Americanness and felt like it’d really ‘sex’ up the segment.

 

Ah yes. The sexy bronze age. The sexy grave he just dug up. 

 

_“Okay, I’ll count you down, and then you just give some information on the find. Just like what it is, details of the remains; age/gender/height or whatever. What this might mean for the future of the dig or bronze age archaeology, okay?”_

 

_“Uh yeah- well I don’t-”_

 

_“-Okay let's do this in one take, three, two, one; go!”_

 

_Bucky blinked. The cameraman nodded._

 

_“The remains were of a child of indeterminate age, approximately 1m tall, curled in a foetal position. We’re hoping that we’ve stumbled onto a grave site, next to the temple that we’ve been excavating for five years. If we’re lucky this might shed some light on the bronze age settlements in the area, and the health and well-being of children at the time, but there is still a lot of work to do!”_

 

It was pretty exciting to get interviewed, and maybe forty-eight million people would have watched his pretty captivating (if you ask him) interview. But, ya know, life went on.

 

Until he went on Twitter.

 

_Top trends United Kingdom:_

 

_#HotHistoryNerd_

 

_#fitBBCnerd_

 

_#SexyArchaeologist_

 

Oh, Jesus.

 

“Mate,” Joe laughed when Bucky showed up for work the next day, “Mate! Mate, you’re a fuckin’ meme! ‘Hot History nerd’ oh my god LOL!”

 

“It’ll blow over right?” Bucky sighed, shoving the younger lad, “I mean not everyone in the country is gonna see my face right?”

 

Joe snorted rather unattractively, “Mate.’

 

“What?”

 

“This shit is international. Bucky fucking Barnes: Hot History Nerd of the BBC. The youtube vid has like seventy million views already. It’s worldwide!”

 

The colour drained from Bucky’s face, and all of a sudden it wasn’t very funny anymore. He made an excuse and bolted towards his little office, shutting and locking the door. He flipped open his laptop and typed his name into google. Taking a deep breath, he hit enter.

 

_Bucky Barnes: About 36,110,000 results (0.34 seconds)_

 

“They’re not gonna see it,” He whispered to himself, “they have better things to do than fuck around on the internet. They’re not gonna see it.”

 

A cold shiver of fear coursed through his body in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. He’d left Brooklyn on a Thursday morning, catching his flight direct to Heathrow. He was leaving everything behind. His family, whom he loved more than anything in the world, were going to be crushed. His friends would be the same. Bucky had no choice. He was scared and just a damn teenager at the time. He had to run away from everything he’d done. He packed lightly. In his bag was a few sets of clothes, a few pairs of shoes…

 

…and $50’000 in stolen cash. 

 

 

****

 

 

_*Click* Hey you’ve reached Steve Rogers, I’m not in at the moment, but please feel free to leave a message after the tone!_

 

_*Beep*_

 

_“Holy fuck Steve, it’s Tony, I know it’s late but fucking hell Steve he’s on TV! Barnes was on TV, he’s in England! Fuck! Steve pick up the phone! He’s out there! God you gotta call me back”_

 

_*Click*_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * omg this is a reference to a tv show called Little Britain purely for my own amusement lmao


	2. INTERLUDE

** Steve & Bucky **

_ Brooklyn, six years ago. _

* * *

 

 

“I’m gay.”

 

Steve looked at his best friend and frowned. “Dude, did you hit your head or something? You told me that like five years ago.”

 

“I’m practising, for like, when we’re at college.”

 

“That's ages away. Besides they’re gonna take one look at your gay ass and know you’re not straight.”

 

Bucky shoved him off the bed. “You’re a fucking asshole. Some ally you are.” He flopped back onto the mattress and sighed, “I’m kinda worried.”

 

Steve sat up from where he was sprawled out on the carpet. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

 

“What if people are mean?”

 

“Then we kick their ass,” Steve shrugged, “problem solved. Plus you know I’d always help you hide a body…”

 

“You’re a freak of nature, Steve-o.”

 

“You love me.”

 

Unfortunately, yes, Bucky did love his jacked up, quarterback looking straight best friend. Steve was tall and blond and ripped as fucking hell, but also so kind and sensitive (and hung like a freaking rhino.)

 

Bucky sighed. “You got me.”

 

Steve stood up and sat down next to Bucky, the bed dipping gently under their weight, “hey, for serious though, everything will be okay. And if anyone does give you trouble we can go straight to the dean, okay? Remember I’ve got your back.”

 

Bucky’s feelings for Steve had started to become a problem. Besides that, nothing had really been a problem for Bucky in all his sixteen years on the planet. He had a big, loving family, lots of friends, he got good grades and was happy. College was going to be a new chapter of the already awesome book of his life. Everything was going to be perfect.

 

Then, one Thursday in February, it all changed.

 

“Son, can I tell you something?”

 

Bucky looked up from his frappuccino, squinting from the pale sun. He said nothing.

 

“I gotta say… you have the look.” The man was dressed in a grey suit, all gold watches and leathery skin, “my my my… you certainly have it.”

 

Bucky glared at him for a moment, just assessing how to deal with the creeper. He was outside the public library for christ’s sake. Unfortunately, old closeted men had a tendency to have an excellent twink gaydar, so it wasn’t the first time some joker had tried the ‘I’m gonna make you a model’ line on him. It was New York fucking city.

 

“I have it?”

 

The man’s eye’s brightened- his prey biting at the metaphorical worm on the hook. “Yes, you have it!”

 

Bucky schooled his face into a look of perfected innocent shock and horror.

 

“I have gonorrhoea?”

 

“Yes! What?! No-”

 

“-Oh my god what am I going to tell Charlene?! She’s gonna know I’ve been cheatin’! The kids! They’re gonna be so mad at their daddy! Why Lord did you lead me into temptation!” He fell to his knees in front of the unimpressed grey suit and pretended to weep. Loudly. Obnoxiously. 

 

“Fuck you, kid!” Grey suit spat and stormed off down the street.

 

Bucky pulled himself off his knees and sat back on the bench. He smirked to himself. God, he was a brat sometimes.

 

“Wow, I wish I had your spunk when I was a kid…”

 

“Uhh,” Bucky snapped his head around to face the newcomer, “you wish you had…my spunk…when you were a kid…my _spunk_ …wish you’d had it…that’s… gross man. I’m a minor.”

 

The new man slapped a palm over his face and groaned, “That’s not what I meant at all.”

 

He sat down opposite Bucky on the other bench. He was early to mid-thirties, brown-eyed and handsome in a rugged way. Leather jacket, jeans, and some irrelevant band t-shirt. Led Zeppelin or some crap.

 

“I just meant that I wish I could’ve been as hilarious at rejecting old assholes who were hitting on my gay underage ass.”

 

Bucky shrugged. “What can I say? It’s a talent.”

 

The man smiled. “You’re different. Just look- you’re drinking a fucking ice coffee in February. Kid, it’s cold as balls.”

 

“I don’t like hot drinks.” Bucky sucked some frappuccino through the straw, narrowing his eyes. “Besides, it’s my business what I drink. Don’t care about what people think or whatever.”

 

“Jesus kid, right out of a John Green novel ain't ya?” The man frowned suddenly, “Not that I read many John Green novels.”

 

“The ice is a metaphor for my cold heart.”

 

“Bet ya got some pretentious double-barrelled name too.”

 

“Nah… it’s Bucky.”

 

The man snorted and slapped his thigh, “man that’s even worse! Bucky!”

 

Bucky hid his smirk behind his hand, and blushed, trying to maintain his ‘too cool for you’ act. It was nice having a conversation with an actual adult whom he wasn’t related to. Especially when said adult was attractive and gay and…interested? Maybe?

 

There is no harm in flirting.

 

“Come on then, tough guy, what’s your name then?”

 

“Brock. Brock Rumlow.”

 

Bucky learnt that Brock was new in town. He was thirty-two, gay, and desperately single as he had been since his ex cheated and left five years previous. He had a dog named Josh, and a little sister in Los Angeles. 

 

“What about you, Bucky? What’s your story, ya know, besides the whole ‘likes to drink ice outside of the library in the dead of winter’?”

 

Bucky blushed again. He couldn’t control his face. “I’m sixteen- seventeen next month. I’m a junior. Next fall I’m going to NYU, I wanna major in ancient history because I love ancient European history! Stonehenge? Love that shit. And maybe, when I'm older, I'll travel a bit. To Europe or something…Uhmm I’m gay… I’ve been out since I was like twelve. I just sort of went for it ya know? and uhm…

 

“I’m in love with my straight best friend and have been forever.”

 

Brock’s eyes softened at the admission, and Bucky had to look away.

 

“That’s rough, kid. Love sucks.” He placed a rough hand upon Bucky’s, causing Bucky’s face to flood with heat once again. “I think I know something that might cheer you up, though?” 

 

“Hmm?”

 

“You said you like history right? I know a guy at the Natural History Museum- there’s that new bronze age exhibit. It ain't open to the public yet, but I think I can pull a few strings.”

 

Bucky’s face warmed, and he was sure he was about the colour of a tomato. He looked up at Brock through his eyelashes in a way he hoped was alluring.

 

“That would be awesome, thank you, Brock.”

 

The older man smiled and placed a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, “You’re welcome, kid.”

 

 

****

 

 

 

“And you say he’s older?” 

 

“Yeah! Like mature and stuff…”

 

“Buck I don’t know…” Steve frowned at his best friend as they set off down the corridor. “Isn’t it a little odd that an adult is trying to start a relationship with you?”

 

Bucky sighed for the millionth time, “he’s not trying to start a relationship with me- we’re friends-”

 

“-but you think he’s inviting you over to fuck?”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes, “yeah friends who fuck… there’s nothing illegal about that-”

 

“-yes there is Buck!” Steve stopped abruptly outside his Lit class, “It’s called the _law_ and he will get arrested and you!” He jabbed Bucky in the chest, “You will get grounded for life! Forget college you’ll be in so much trouble!”

 

“Steve I-”

 

“-No.” Steve’s eyes softened and he let out a puff of breath, “I worry about you Bucky. I know sometimes you panic and think that there are no boys out there that will wanna be with you… but this seems like bad news to me. He seems like bad news. I want you to be careful. I care about you.”

 

Bucky’s heart ached like it did every time Steve looked at him that way. Like he was frozen, and melting in the sun, his feet and hands tingly with the sharp sensation of pins and needles. Like his lungs had been burning underwater and Steve was the one who had finally pulled him above the surface for his first breath of air. That pain that was fierce, but necessary to show that he was still alive.

 

“I know. I know that Steve…I’ll be careful. Promise.”

 

 

 

****

 

 

“Tell me you want this, baby,” Brock murmured as he lay kisses along the length of Bucky’s collarbone, “You want this…”

 

Bucky felt so alive.

 

“God. Yes.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bare with me on this one
> 
> i started writing it before brexit, ya know, back when i actually gave a shit about my country and thought that writing about it would be nice lmaoooooo
> 
> now here we are in the year of our lord 2018 and i've started writing it again 
> 
> enjoy x


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